


Trix are for Countries

by RIC (prussia)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Comedy, M/M, Post WWII, Prussia - not as East Germany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prussia/pseuds/RIC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia finds Trix in his brother's kitchen, and after learning how the Trix Rabbit is not allowed to eat the cereal, he leaves houseguest Austria home alone, to venture into the woods, and offer a snack to actual rabbits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a comedy, starring Prussia, and centering on PruAus. Set in post-WWII Germany, Prussia, unlike in canon, does not serve as East Germany. See, before I was familiar with Canon Hetalia, in depth, I assumed East Germany would be a completely new character, springing forth, when needed, such as chibi!America did: a child, appearing out of nowhere. I later learned Prussia represented the GDR, but I've always wanted to do something with my original idea of a young East Germany. So yes, he's an OC, and I know not everyone likes OCs (I'm not sure I even care for them, too often) but his appearances in this story are minimal, and used only for a sort of poetic/dramatic effect. Otherwise, this story is canon-esque and light on its feet. Except for one scene of angst/near-death. Ha. I'm a weird writer, and if you read this and enjoy it, Thank you so much! ~ Trigger Warnings include: water, asphyxiation. Pairings include: PruAus, implied GerIta, and past-tense AusHun (just in the sense they were formerly married). Other characters mentioned: Denmark, America, Hungary, Italy, Russia, Lithuania, and East Germany. Also: Chapter One is a bit dialogue heavy -- I apologize for that, and I promise, it gets less talky as it progresses.

Germany's house was quiet on a Monday morning. The lights were off, and the doors were locked. In the living room, the muted television's soft flickering cast a rainbow of indecipherable colors, across the blue carpet.

Boots approached, but made not a sound. The potential noise, of heavy steps, was absorbed by the plush floor. "You be good today," said Germany, as he stood near, and towering over, his big brother, who was wearing pajamas, and hunched in front of the TV, at Germany's feet.

"I'll be whatever I want to be," said Prussia, a bit sullen, until he remembered the real remark he wanted to make -- too late: Germany had already sighed, and walked away.

"I'll be awesome as always!" shouted Prussia, just as Germany stepped over the threshold; keys rattling, as he locked the door behind him.

"Like a prisoner," said Prussia.

He leaned back onto his hands, and stared at the screen. Laughing, as Tom chased Jerry.

"That cat..." said Prussia, "he should just eat him already!"

Gilbird flew into the living room, from the kitchen, his wings outstretched, and coated in flour. He lit atop Prussia's head.

"What are you doing, silly bird?" he asked.

He plucked the yellow ball of feathers from his silver mop -- Prussia had failed to get a haircut in months! Out of protest; he insisted on staying home the entire summer, unless Germany would let him venture out alone at night. A grown man, grounded, due to getting home late, after a three day binge, with Denmark, the previous March. The only thing Germany _would_ allow Prussia to do, was take their current houseguest, Austria, for long walks, or to run errands, during the day. Prussia refused. Germany dead-bolted the door, from the outside, and locked him in; only Austria held the second key.

"You're gonna get flour in my stinkin' hair!" said Prussia, but then he smiled at Gilbird, and kissed him; sticking out his tongue, to remove a tiny feather. "Though I guess it doesn't matter," he said, "my hair is silver, and your flour is white..."

He set Gilbird onto the blue carpet, and patted him on his head. Back to watching cartoons, Prussia lied down, and curled into a crescent around Gilbird; playing with the bird's wings; watching the screen, but letting his fingers pull and tug at Gilbird's feathers, removing at least three.

"YOU!" shot a voice from the kitchen. Followed by a crash, as Austria threw a mixing bowl at the wall.

Prussia whispered to Gilbird, "That silly aristocrat must be trying to make pancakes again." He snickered. "It's the one thing I can make better than he can!!"

Prussia jumped to his feet, and ran to the kitchen, to find Austria, leaning over the sink, huffing, and wiping flour from his cheeks with the cuff of his rolled-up sleeve.

"My awesome self is here to help you with your pancakes!" said Prussia: his eyes shut, and hands on his hips.

Austria picked up a spatula, and hurled it at Prussia's forehead.

"Ouch, you...!" cried Prussia. He picked up a shiny pan, and held it in front of his face, inspecting for any possible wounds. He whimpered, "I just wanted to help..."

"I don't need your help," said Austria. "I'm quite capable of making this recipe on my own."

Prussia tossed the pan into the floor. "Of course you are!" he said. He walked to the cabinet, and raided it. "In the meantime, I'm going to have some breakfast." He pulled out a box of cereal, and stared at it.

"What on earth are you doing??" asked Austria, as he returned to the stove, looking about for his 'lost' spatula, muttering to himself..."now where did I put that darn thing."

"You threw it at my head!" said Prussia, and pointed to the spatula, on the other side of the room. "And I'm going to eat this damn rabbit cereal," he added, while shaking the box. "You got a problem with that, Fussy Britches?!"

Austria retrieved the spatula from the floor, and flung it into the sink; he opened a drawer, and searched for a clean one. "I do not," he said. "What do I care what garbage you pile into your stomach. Do as you please!"

Prussia opened the icebox, grabbing a carton of milk. "Don't I always?!" he asked.

Prussia set the milk, and box of cereal onto the countertop, and then pressed his hands down, putting all his weight on them, pulling himself up, and twisting about, to sit on the counter.

Austria's eyes shot wide. "Get your butt off there this instant!" he said, swatting at Prussia's leg with the new spatula. Prussia snatched it from Austria's hand, and plunged it into the box of cereal.

"Thanks!" he said, "I forgot to grab a spoon."

Austria stood and watched as Prussia poured the milk directly into the box. Digging out a mouthful of wet cereal, with the spatula.

"You're insane," said Austria, as he walked away; back to the drawer of utensils, for a third spatula.

Prussia laughed, and gobbled up the colorful cereal. "What is this stuff anyway??" he asked, peering at it, before shoving another heap into his mouth.

Austria glanced over, from his place at the stovetop. After a long pause, he said, "I don't know...possibly something America left here, the last time he visited your brother."

Prussia raised the box to his face. "American," he said, the cereal crunching, to serve as punctuation. "You don't suppose it's actually made of rabbits, do you?" he asked.

Austria smiled. "Why on earth would America sell cereal made of rabbits??"

Prussia sharpened his gaze, flipping the box, to read the side panel; searching for a list of ingredients. "Well, then," he said...but as he failed to find a list, his eyes widened, and he turned to face Austria. His voice shrill: "You don't suppose it IS made out of rabbits, do you?!"

Austria laughed, but buried it; covering his face with one hand, rubbing his eyes, to muffle his reaction. "Would you stop with all these questions, Prussia!" he said. "It's too early in the morning for your nonsense."

Prussia's mouth hung agape. Studying Austria, who poured batter onto a flat skillet; who stood, the third spatula in hand, held at an angle, ready to flip the cake; watching the bubbles form.

"You'd think you were performing open heart surgery over there, or something!" said Prussia, setting his box of milk and cereal onto the countertop, before leaping off, his bare feet hitting the floor with a slap. "Talk to me!" he shouted.

Austria sighed, and poked at the edge of a pancake. "I am talking to you!" he said. "Not all of us want to eat candy-colored sugar balls for breakfast."

"Sugar balls," repeated Prussia, and giggled. "Well, they are pretty good." He smirked at Austria, and grabbed the box of cereal, bringing it over to Austria's side. "Here!" he said, "why don't you try some, Snobby Aristocrat?"

Austria looked down at the box in Prussia's hand, then lifted his eyes to meet Prussia's. "I'm not. Eating. That," he said.

"But come on!" pleaded Prussia. "Try my awesome sugar balls!!"

Austria slapped at Prussia's wrist with the spatula.

"Ouch!" screamed Prussia, for the second time that morning, as a red welt rose on his wrist. He stammered, "You...burnt me?"

Austria dropped the spatula onto the pancake in the skillet. "I didn't mean to!" he said. He placed his hand underneath Prussia's hand: a master inspecting a puppy's injured paw, stepped on, in the middle of the night, in the quest for a glass of water, in the dark; cooing the small animal, and apologizing, though the animal can't understand the words, or the condolences; only the pain inflicted. Always wondering why.

"I forgot it was hot," said Austria. His fingers held Prussia's in a light grasp; his thumb, petting the top of Prussia's knuckles. "I'm sorry," he said, raising the oil-burnt wrist, inches below the rim of his glasses. "Let me see here," he added. "I think it'll be all right...I'm sure your brother has a first aide kit around here somewhere..."

"Kiss it," said Prussia. "Kiss my boo-boo, and make it better, you Dick."

Austria scoffed, and dropped Prussia's palm. "I will not!" he said, turning back to the stove. He hoisted the spatula, and flipped the white cake, to reveal the other side: black.

"Ha!" said Prussia. "Now your silly panny-cake is all burnt too!!"

Austria lifted his chin, and bit his lower lip. Without another word, he took the skillet from the burner, and set it aside, onto a wooden trivet. He turned off the stove, and slung the hot, oily spatula into the sink.

"Now you have to eat Trix with me!" said Prussia.

Austria stood motionless, stuck between Prussia, and the kitchen's exit. He adjusted his glasses, and tightened his cravat. "I'd rather kiss your stupid wrist," he said.

Prussia grinned. "Well, if that's what you want!"

Prussia threw the cereal box to the floor: soggy Trix slopped to the tile, and milk flew, peppered with red and orange and yellow balls, rolling about, scattering in all directions.

"You idiot!" said Austria, staring at the mess. "You're gonna have to..."

"You're gonna have to shut up, and kiss my wrist!" said Prussia. His grin almost wider than the path of milk-logged destruction to Germany's kitchen floor.

"But I..." began Austria, yet he swallowed hard, and stepped forward, and his lips were met with Prussia's red and throbbing wrist. He kissed it. "There!" said Austria. "Satisfied?"

Prussia puckered, to diminish his smile. "Yes," he said, "I'm happy now. My belly is filled with fruity rabbit balls, and my boo-boo is covered in Austria kisses."

Austria emitted a loud sigh of relief. "It was just one kiss," he said, turning away, to step over the breakfast mess. Pointing down, he added, "Now mop up this spill!"

Austria grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter, and disappeared through the doorway, venturing on to the piano room; forgetting it was no longer _his_ piano room. Twenty years or so had passed since he had lived in Germany's house; under the same roof as that goofball in the kitchen! Now that his own house was being renovated, he had accepted Germany's invitation to come and stay. Hungary had offered an invitation, too, but...things were always so much 'livelier' at Germany's house. Prussia would at least keep his spirits afloat, if nothing else, Austria had told Germany. To Hungary, Austria had simply explained, he would be more comfortable lodging with a couple of bachelors, than an ex-wife.

Music from the piano crept into the kitchen, as Prussia, armed with a mop, attempted to slide about the floor. "If I were wearing socks, I could be a figure skater!" he said to Gilbird, whom he thought was atop his head. But Gilbird had long been asleep, perched upon the warm TV: still flickering. Tom still chasing Jerry. A cat left to his only known devices: chase what you cannot have. Chase what you want to destroy! Even if you've grown to love it.

Prussia swept the cereal with the dry mop, and in the process, sopped up some of the milk. He even invented a little song for his work: "I am awesome - I am Prussia - I am awesome and I am Prussia!" he sang.

He ventured to the sink, holding the mop's head above it. "Let me fix your hair," he said, and squeezed the wet yarn, wringing out the milk with his bare hand.

As he returned to the spill, for a second go, he danced about, strumming the mop, as if it were a silent guitar.

Meanwhile, Austria plunked piano keys, and Gilbird snored.


	2. Chapter 2

Once the spill was cleaned-up, Prussia returned the mop to the storage room. "I am so awesome," he said. "Quick! Someone praise me."

He waited for Gilbird to cheep, but Gilbird wasn't present. Prussia patted his own head, and looked about, his eyes wild. "Where is my little friend?" he asked the washing machine. "Have you seen him, dryer?"

The dryer didn't answer; appliances can't talk.

\-- No matter how much Prussia enjoyed pretending they could.

He peered at his reflection in the door of the dryer. "I'm talking to you, damn it!" he said. Prussia licked his teeth, and smiled.

Running into the living room, Prussia found Gilbird, snoozing atop the TV. "That silly cat catch the mouse yet?" he asked the sleeping bird. Prussia scooped him up, and petted him a bit. When Gilbird failed to awaken, Prussia slung him onto his head. The startled bird let out a 'cheep!'

"Oh, you're annoyed with me?" Prussia said. "Well, you and Austria should start a club..."

Prussia plomped down onto the couch, careful not to knock the little bird loose from the country's silver tresses. "And then you two should invite me to be in it!" said Prussia.  "Because I've never been in a club, and I bet it would be fun."

Prussia stared at the glowing box, across the room. A new cartoon had begun. He scratched himself, and fidgeted with the couch cushions, and yawned.

"I don't like this one," he said. "Not enough chasing."

He stood up, and turned off the television. Sneezing at the blank screen, he thought of the cereal box, in the kitchen.

"I'm going to call America," he said to Gilbird, "and ask him, just what does he put in that delicious nonsense." Prussia then whispered, "I hope it's not little bunny rabbits, after all."

Prussia climbed the stairs to Germany's bedroom, and threw himself onto the bed. Gilbird hit the pillow, and hopped away, retreating to the headboard. His feathers, rumpled.

Prussia picked up the receiver of the black glossy rotary phone, and paused. "I don't know America's phone number," he said. Gilbird cheeped.

Prussia dug through the drawer of Germany's nightstand, finding a little black book, filled with important numbers.

"Italy's is highlighted," he said with a laugh, pointing out the phone number to Gilbird.

Prussia grabbed an ink pen from the drawer, and doodled a few hearts next to Italy's name. "There," he said, "now it's perfect!"

Flipping through the pages of the little black book, Prussia finally located America's number. "I thought it would be under the A's," he said. "Who knew America started with a 'U'."

Prussia shrugged, and dialed the number.

After several rings, America answered the phone. Niceties were exchanged, including an exuberant reply from Prussia: "I am awesome, how are you??"

Prussia inquired about the Trix; what ingredients were used to make the children's breakfast cereal?

America responded he didn't know, but probably sugar, and other 'cool' things like that.

Prussia nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, "but what about bunny rabbits??"

America assured him, no bunny rabbits were used to make Trix.

"Oh, it's a cartoon," said Prussia, repeating America's comment on the fictional rabbit, used to hawk the cereal, "like Tom and Jerry, right??"

America explained the joke of the Trix Rabbit always wanting to eat Trix, but Trix were for kids.

"And awesome countries like me!" shouted Prussia.

America reminded Prussia, the latter was no longer a country, so Prussia gasped, and hung up the phone.

"I am too a country," he said to Gilbird, who was rolling about Germany's pillow. Prussia snatched up the yellow bird, and stuffed him into the front pocket of his shirt; using his finger to hold back the fabric, and rub the bird's head. "Let's go, friend," he said.

He returned to the kitchen, and found a second box of Trix in the pantry, amongst other boxes of American-made cereal. "I wonder why America brings his own food when he visits?" Prussia said, and Gilbird cheeped.

Prussia carried the cereal to the music room, where Austria was sitting at the piano, but not playing; his chin resting on the keys.

Prussia loomed in the doorway, and asked, "Who made you cry this time, huh, Little Girl?"

Austria turned only his eyes towards Prussia, then looked back, to the outer edge of the fallboard, housed within the piano.

"Does it look like I'm crying?" he asked.

Prussia tore open the box of cereal. "Anyway, I'm going out," he said. "I thought you might want to come with me."

Austria sat up straight, and shook his head no.

"Fine!" said Prussia. "I hope you don't get lost on the way to the bathroom, while I'm gone."

Austria sighed, and slammed his fingers to the keys. As a sharp note echoed throughout the house, Prussia dropped the box, to cover his ears. Colorful balls of cereal spewed across the floor.

"You're cleaning that up, too," said Austria, almost in rhythm with his playing.

Prussia stuck out his tongue, and retrieved the box, as he fled from the room. He heard Austria screaming for him to return, and clean up his mess, all while clanging the keys, and playing wildly.

Prussia could still hear the cacophony, as he approached the downstairs window; the one nearest to the front door. He placed his palms against the pane, and tried, in vain, to lift it, by pressing hard and upward. When the window wouldn't budge, he ran upstairs, returning to Germany's bedroom. He pat at his shirt pocket, to comfort Gilbird, who was wiggling about, and trying to flap his wings, but couldn't spread them, due to the snugness of his surroundings. Prussia whispered, "It's all right," and cooed a bit, 'til the bird fell quiet.

Digging through his brother's closet, Prussia stole a pair of boots. He sat on the corner of Germany's bed, and stuck his feet into the worn, brown leather, tying the laces into knots.

With the box of Trix tucked beneath his arm, Prussia stood, and grabbed the black glossy rotary phone from Germany's nightstand, ripping it from the wall. The cord dangled, and dragged the floor, trailing behind Prussia as he descended the stairs.

At the window again, Prussia took one look at the pane, and slammed the phone through it, shattering the glass. Shards flew outward, and rained across the carpet. The phone landed in grass, with a metallic thud; the dull, hard ringing of a singular, internal bell.

Prussia covered his fist with the cuff of his shirt, and cleared the rest of the glass with his elbow.

He climbed through the jagged hole, stepping one leg through; his boot broke the scrawny limbs of the bush beneath the sill. He pulled his other leg through, and stumbled into the yard, and sunlight. Reflecting from his silver hair: a snow covered field casting a glow bright enough to blind you.

Prussia laughed, and stretched his arms, smiling. Ignoring the pain of his bleeding forearm. The burn on his wrist. The bruise on his forehead.

"I'm free!" he shouted.

Gilbird cheeped, and wormed his way from Prussia's pocket, flying up, past Prussia's face. The country's eyes went wide, but then narrowed, as he grinned. "You want to be free, too, yeah?" he asked.

Prussia jumped, and netted the bird with his fist. "Not today," he said, clutching Gilbird with long, gentle fingers; a loose cage of flesh-covered bars. Gilbird cheeped in protest; Prussia ignored him, and hummed. He marched alongside the driveway, crushing Germany's flowers in his wake.

"I'm not staying home like a Baby Girl Man Boy all day," he said; his lips puckered, and sulking. He stormed to the gate, and climbed it, over and down, and into the road. He retrieved the box of cereal from beneath his arm, and began shaking it. "Bunny rabbits," he shouted, "come and get some cereal! That mean ol' America won't let you have any, but awesome Prussia will!!" 


	3. Chapter 3

"Not a country anymore, my ass," Prussia muttered, beneath his breath, as he stomped across the asphalt, and headed towards the woods. He shook the box, and sang another song: "Trix are for bunnies, and awe-some Prussia, and little Gilbird...cheep, cheep, cheep!!"

He stopped a moment, realizing, he hadn't fed Gilbird any of the colorful cereal. He crouched down, on the side of the autobahn, and with Gilbird in one fist, he plunged the other hand, into the cardboard crevices, digging out a few pieces of cereal. He shook the extra away, and with two fingers, tight against a red ball, he pinched the sugary morsel, squeezing it through the bars of his fist, bread being passed through the open cracks of a jail cell, and touched it to the tip of Gilbird's beak.

"Go on, and eat it!" said Prussia.

Gilbird struggled to flap his wings.

"All right," said Prussia, "You don't want any? More for me!!"

He looked up, and tossed the cereal into the air, and let it fall into his open mouth.

He lowered his head, chewing, and smiled. "See? It's good," he said. "Makes you strong, and cool, like me."

Gilbird cheeped again, and Prussia's gaze softened.

"Fine," he replied.

He opened his hand, to a flat palm, with five outstretched runways. A helicopter atop a roof, or an airplane atop a navy vessel, couldn't hope for a more suitable place from which to take-off; at such a height -- even with Prussia kneeling. Gilbird took to the air with one swoop of his wings, retracting his 'landing gear'; his little forked feet, pulled near, and tucked into his feathery underside.

"You look like a little yellow balloon," said Prussia, as he watched his friend soar further into the air, swooping down in circles, making rings about Prussia's head.

"All right," said Prussia, "I don't need some cuckoo bird swarming me, like those nuts in the cartoons."

He swatted at Gilbird, and laughed, as he rose, again, and continued his jaunt towards the woods.

"Too bad there's not a zoo around here," he said, to the picture of the rabbit on the box of America's cereal. He grinned at it, and kissed it, and hugged the box close to his heart. A white rabbit. Prussia's youth. He stomped through a mud hole, without noticing; without looking down. Without any care for his brother's shoes, or the mud he'd track into the house later. Into Germany's house; onto Germany's perfect blue carpet. Prussia would have to clean it: vacuum it, and shampoo it, even. And let it dry, and scrub it again, and disinfect it. And then vacuum again, 'til no trace of dirt remained, or any remnant of the past. Nothing to remind anyone of Prussia's adventures. His carelessness. Of dirty work. Rabbits must be fed! Who else would venture on a quest to feed the creatures who are deprived of crunchy sweets. America was always taking the fun out of everything. The joy, out of Prussia's existence.

"Who does he think he is, any way?" asked Prussia, of Gilbird. But Gilbird was long gone, flown into the limbs and leaves of a tree, and napping on a branch.

\-- To be Prussia's sidekick was exhausting!

Prussia found an open stream, past several rows of trees, drowning in waves of high grass. His ankles itched, despite wearing boots, and long pajama pants.

"I guess I should have stole a pair of socks, too," he said, leaning over, and digging what nails he had, into his pale skin, scratching upwards on his lower leg.

"No matter," he said, as he stiffened straight again, and loomed near the water's edge.

"BUNNY RABBITS!!" Prussia shouted. He shook the box, and gobbled a few more pieces of cereal, to 'show' the rabbits how good the cereal tasted, and how it wasn't poisoned; this wasn't a trick.

"I know they're called Trix," he said, "but..."

Prussia coughed. He gagged, and spat, and bits of powdery cereal spewed out, as he grabbed his throat, choking himself further with his long fingers, one palm atop the other hand. A grasp tighter than Russia's scarf. Prussia could only imagine...thank God for an East Germany springing up, to take Prussia's place. A little blue-eyed, dark-haired boy, with a scar across his face. A little boy, with a thin German accent, and a penchant for pancakes, and the strength to bear cold weather. A little boy, often seen marching alongside a wall, wearing a Prussian blue scarf, and carrying a sand bucket, and shovel. "I'll dig my way underneath," he'd say, and Russia would smile, or maybe smirk, and have Lithuania come, and tote the boy away, and back home, for a warm bath before scolding. Before bedtime, and nightmares, and who knows what else may follow, in the head of a young boy, whose only friend in the world is a wall. Isolated countries. Prussia's past ended, and the small boy took his place. East Germany was a godsend. Now Prussia could waste away in front of a television. In Germany's basement. Wherever he ended up, at night. Writing in his diaries. Poring over lost memories. But sometimes, late at night, before Prussia was grounded, he'd go to the wall, and shout through the trench between them...his voice echoed through the death strip, "Are you okay over there?" To be answered, only, by a small voice, shouting, "They won't let me leave."


	4. Chapter 4

Or maybe Prussia was dreaming.

***

He fell to his knees, at the edge of the land, and with a cupped hand, he scooped from the stream, mirky water, the color which ran from the mop's hair, that morning, and into his mouth, he forced it, with a slap to his parted lips.

"What on earth are you doing?!" came a voice from the woods.

Prussia struggled to turn; struggled to swallow, and breathe. He placed a fist at his chest, and twisted his body, to see Austria, walking towards him.

The Aristocrat, dressed in his finest black wool coat, with a white satin jabot, and tall black boots, laced with purple strings, made his way through the trees. He lowered his gaze to the box of Trix at Prussia's side, and adjusted his glasses, as if to focus the telescopic lens of a bulky camera. "You're choking," he finally said, in a quiet way; a doctor, diagnosing a patient. A narrator, commenting, in the climax of a tragic film: two seconds too late.

Prussia forced a smile, and his red face flushed blue. His eyes shut, and he fell over, sedated, by lack of air, and stiff, into the stream. A dull slap, then sharp splash of water rose up around him, before he sank from sight. Austria's boots fell silent on the thick blades of tall grass, huffing as he ran towards the submersed country, no longer visible: not one inch of him.

"Prussia," Austria said, almost begging. He crawled the last few paces, while unbuttoning his heavy coat.

He looked for a moment, at the dismal water, and stuck his hand in, to gauge for the presence and strength of a current.

Austria dove in, forgetting to remove his glasses, or maybe he didn't forget; it's hard to see a friend, lost underwater. It's hard to save a man, when you can't see five inches, in front of your own face. But with the bleakness of the stream, no one could see at all, underneath, glasses or no glasses.

The smug grin he usually wore was replaced by a grimace, from the chill of the water, and the shock of the depth to which Prussia was sinking. Austria could make out a dark form, and grabbed at what he thought was a leg. He held tight to Prussia's ankle. The sight of the stream was misleading: it was deeper than Austria had imagined. Surely he could touch bottom, and use the leverage of the ground, to push upwards, to break the surface of the water, and save his friend, but no, there was no ground-floor, and no sunlight, and nothing but cold, and darkness, and lack of sound. Just a rush in his ears, and a sting in his eyes. Austria tugged, and placed his other hand on Prussia's leg, feeling his way upward like a cat climbing a tree, patting both hands until he felt Prussia's stomach, then ribcage. Austria wrapped his arm around the other country, and began kicking his own legs, swimming, and weak, and all out of breath.

His head above water, Austria panted for air. His Mariazell, wilted, and stuck to his head, as he swam towards the shore, with Prussia under his left arm, and Prussia's right arm, draped across Austria's back.

He dragged Prussia's body into the dirt and rocks, of the stream's bank, careful to drop Prussia's head into the crushed tall grass, with the help of Austria's hand, behind Prussia's neck. His skin cold, and his face still blue, Austria ran his hand across Prussia's cheeks, and slapped them. "Wake up, You Stupid...," he said. But then he petted Prussia's cheek, and bullied himself, instead. "Be nice," thought Austria, "be nice. This could be it!"

Austria, unsure of where to start: to clear the food, or give Prussia air?! He placed his hands at Prussia's heart, and prepared to pump it, but if his airway was still blocked?! Nothing could get in, if nothing could get out. You can't move on, if you're nailed to the floor of a basement; locked inside another country's house. Glued to a TV. Blocked by a wall. Holding on to the glories of your past. Lost in old diaries. Where were the new pages to be written, when all the books were filled? With all the pages bent, and books burning, and flags, no longer waving. Countries marching on, from the hell of war, and Prussia; what was Prussia in need of?

He wanted to pump his heart back to beating, but Prussia's lungs were filled with water, and his throat, filled with sugar, and no air could get in. Austria wrapped his arms around Prussia's body again, and sat him upright: he squeezed tight, beneath the bones, until water spewed forth, from Prussia's mouth, with a loud splurge of cereal, and swallowed stream. Murky mop-water, and colorful soggy bits rained down, and Prussia gasped, and sucked in, shrill heaving, and a shocked look; wide eyes: red, and filled with tears of pain.

Austria took no chances. He knew Prussia's heart no longer needed help in beating, but a lot of lost time of breathing needed to be made up for! Surely...he pushed Prussia back onto the grass, with the help of an arm beneath him: laying a crying child down to nap. And for fear of Prussia protesting -- tired children never want to sleep, no matter how tired they are: countries suffocated for so long may not want help from a smug ass Aristocrat, but God damn it, they were gonna get it!

Austria placed his hand, at Prussia's chin, and lifted his head, and leaned down, attempting to breathe into Prussia's mouth. He angled his head, so as not to bump noses (was this a postponed life-saving procedure, or a make-out session?! Austria didn't know...), and with his lips an inch away from Prussia's -- whose eyes grew wider: Austria, THIS CLOSE. After years of not speaking; after years of avoidance; now this houseguest, this ex, this long lost friend...an inch away -- Prussia laughed. It hurt him, but he laughed. An almost quiet, and pained laugh. He managed to utter a few words of complaint, and expletives deleted, perhaps, as Austria stared down at him, studying Prussia's lips, as if still hellbent on 'saving' him.

"Shut up, and hold still," said Austria. "I'm going to preform CPR."

"You're not performing any letters of the alphabet on me!" said Prussia.

Austria scoffed, and pulled away, crossing his arms, as he sat on the stream's bank. Staring out at the dim water, and the ever-dimming day. The lack of sunlight now, made him shiver. His soaking wet clothes. A lack of coat. He began peering about, in search of it. Seeing a black wool sleeve, amongst the high grass, he stood up, and walked over to it. Pulling at his shirt, tight against his body. His pants stuck to him, as he walked awkwardly back towards Prussia, like a duck waddling in pantyhose, a size too small. Assuming ducks ever wear pantyhose.

Gilbird squawked, as he appeared, flying overhead, swooping down to Prussia's sopped hair. "You missed me?" asked Prussia.

Austria, who was shaking any possible dirt or bugs from his best coat, didn't look before answering the question not meant for him, but for the bird. "Of course I didn't," he said. "I was simply worried."

"Simply," repeated Prussia. "You were missing me, too, and you know it!!" 

Austria glanced over at Prussia, who was shaking, but smiling: the small bird atop his head.

Shaking, and holding his knees, tight to his chest, Prussia's face filled with some semblance of color, again.

He whispered to Gilbird, "Austria tried to kiss me."

Prussia turned to Austria, and winked.

Austria fumed, and threw his coat at Prussia. "There!" he said. "You wear it! Put it on, and get your stupid butt up, and come home, this instant!!"

He stomped his boot to the ground, and it squished, with water leaking from the leather, and squeaked, as the soles rubbed together.

"Austria's boots make better music than he does," Prussia said to Gilbird, who chirped, with what Prussia assumed was laughter.

But the near-drowned country's grin faded, as he rose to his feet, and swayed a bit, with a nervous look. He stuck out his arms, as if they were wings.

Austria rushed to Prussia's side, and caught him.

He asked Austria, "You want to go swimming again?" and Prussia smiled, but he didn't mean it. Austria held Prussia: a drunk friend in need of leading home.

"You must really like that stream," Austria said, in an attempt to make his own joke. In an attempt to lighten the mood, and not cry, from the fear of the sight of a country almost unable to still stand on two feet. On two legs as uneasy as limp noodles pulled from the boiling water, of a pot on Italy's stovetop.

"You must have really wanted to know what Trix cereal and mop-water taste like," said Prussia. He nuzzled his face into Austria's slick, mussed jabot, as Austria's black hair dripped stream-water onto Prussia's cheeks. Mixing with tears, and who cares if you're crying, when there's stream-water mixed in. No one can tell the difference: you can remain awesome, and unfeeling. Forever alone; but with a smile, who can tell you're in pain? Prussia did smile, and held tight to Austria for a moment. Gilbird hopped to Austria's head, instead, and plucked at the wilted Mariazell until it stood up straight again, even biting at it, to form its kink.

"Your little bird is helpful, when he wants to be," said Austria, his eyes looking upward, to Gilbird's handiwork.

"So are you," said Prussia, "...when you want to be."


	5. Chapter 5

The two countries staggered back to Germany's house, with Prussia leaning onto Austria, and wrapped in Austria's best, black wool coat. A few vehicles drove past, on the autobahn. Headlights grew large in the distance, then disappeared up ahead. The sun was setting, and Germany would be home soon.

Austria unlocked the front door, with his key, and shoved Prussia inside. "Quick," he said, "crawl upstairs, if you have to, but go change clothes before your brother sees you!"

Prussia hugged at Austria's coat, and sniffled. "But you're wet, too," he said.

Austria peered down, and cursed himself.

"Fine," he said. "Let's both go and change."

Closets were raided, and showers were taken, because who wants to smell like a mirky stream? The death of the day, and into the night, and Germany was late, due to a date with Italy. And Austria and Prussia had a few more moments of quiet, and expletives deleted, followed by exhaustion, a bowl of Trix, Prussia shouting, "See, they are good?!" and perhaps Austria wearing bunny ears: a leftover piece of a long-ago worn costume of Prussia's, from April Fool's Day, were adorned by the aristocrat as he ate. Spoon-fed by Prussia, and then sleep. Well-deserved sleep. Prussia asking Austria, "If you're not too tired tomorrow, you want to get up early, and watch cartoons with me?"

And from the pillow next to Prussia's, Austria turned his head, to face the other country. "I don't like that cat and mouse stuff," he said.

"Well, I let you preform several letters of the alphabet on me, tonight, and I don't like that stuff," said Prussia.

Austria shut his eyes, and with an immaculate impression of Prussia's accent, said, "Oh, but I thought you liked all things 'nudey und fun'."

Prussia laughed. And after Austria was asleep, he arose from the bed, and wandered downstairs. He grabbed the third box of Trix, from the countertop, and wore his own coat, as he wandered outside, and for many miles, walked in silence, with only a bird to keep him company. Past a wall, he paced, shouting, "You want to try my awesome sugar balls, Little Country?" He thought of throwing them over the wall, but surely they'd only land into the death strip. Prussia instead unfolded the top flap, and had Gilbird fly the box to East Germany. Surprised Gilbird was not shot down. But maybe yellow birds with cereal boxes in their mouths aren't as easy to see late at night, as one may think. Or maybe Prussia was dreaming. Asleep next to Austria...who knows what runs through the mind of a dissolved country, saved from drowning, and placed in the safety of his brother's home. A prison? A caged bird who needed a change of scenery. A belly full of sweets. Grounded for his own good. He snuggled against Austria, as Germany peered into the bedroom, sometime around the darkness of 2 AM.

"I'll never understand those two," said Germany.

He shut the door, and removed his shoes, trudging down the hall to his own room. Tossing the key to the front door of his house, onto the floor, Germany plummeted to the sheets, and sprawled out, with a sigh. Digging through his nightstand drawer, he retrieved his little black book, and pondered how the little hearts around Italy's name ever came into existence. "Prussia should really get a life," he said. "He should get out of the house more often, but what trouble he could get into?!"

The safety of home, and familiar surroundings. The TV flickering indecipherable colors onto soft carpet at 3 AM. Prussia's insomnia parked him on the couch, as he stared at static, and wondered why he saw no rabbits in the woods that day. Why Austria looked so cute in bunny ears. Why Tom didn't just eat Jerry. Oh, the things running through his head. His bird nest hair. Gilbird was snoring, and so were Germany and Austria. Prussia stretched out, and thought of cute Italy. Little hearts, in permanent ink. He snacked on dry Trix, and crunched to the tune of some long forgotten battle song, Old Fritz used to play on the flute. His tune was soon met with Austria playing the piano, in the music room. Fellow insomniacs. Prussia nearly choked on the cereal, again, as he fell asleep, with a mouthful. Austria found him, and again performed various letters of the alphabet. The convenience of close, surrounding countries. Attractive land-masses. The taste of fruit, forbidden to rabbits.

Germany found them, there, too: naked beneath a blanket, at sunrise, before locking them in, the door shut behind him, for another day filled with sugar and cartoons.


End file.
